Chapter 4 : Resit Exam

The blaring sound of her alarm never came.

Instead, it was the blinding sunlight pouring through the half-open curtain that yanked Amara out of sleep. She sat up with a gasp, heart thudding. Her eyes darted to the wall clock—8:13 AM.

The exam was at 8:30.

Her breath caught in her throat. The resit. Her resit. Med-Surg.

"No, no, no—" she scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the books and notes scattered across the floor. Her brain was still foggy, the weight of only three hours of sleep pressing down on her like a vice.

Kelsey's bunk was empty. Of course. She'd left without waking her.

Amara rushed to the sink, splashed cold water on her face, and brushed her teeth with one hand while pulling on her uniform with the other. Her bag was half-packed from last night's panicked cramming session. She shoved in her pen pouch, grabbed her ID card, and bolted.

In the hallway, she ran into another latecomer—a guy she didn't know. Their shoulders bumped. He grumbled, but Amara didn't stop to apologize.

Her shoes slapped against the hostel pavement as she ran. The air was thick with heat already, her backpack bouncing, her breath sharp. The stress was all-consuming. Her thoughts raced.

What if they don't let me in? What if I miss the paper? What if this is it—if everything ends today?

By the time she reached the classroom block, she was drenched in sweat, chest heaving. The hall where the Med-Surg resit was holding stood like a fortress. Cold. Unforgiving.

She grabbed the doorknob.

Locked.

Panic set in.

She banged on the door. "Please—I'm here! I'm sorry I'm late—please!"

After what felt like forever, it creaked open. A stern-faced female invigilator stood there, arms crossed.

"You're two minutes from being disqualified," she snapped.

"I—I had a rough night. Please—" Amara's voice cracked.

The woman stared at her for a long moment, then moved aside silently.

Amara slipped in, every pair of eyes in the room following her like laser beams. Her heart pounded as she slid into the only empty seat near the back. Kelsey gave her a brief glance—concern etched into her features—but said nothing.

The question paper was already on her desk.

Her hands trembled as she picked it up.

Then… a pause.

Amara blinked.

Wait.

I know this.

She scanned the first question. It was from the cardio unit—Types of shock and their management. She had reviewed it twice last night. She flipped to the second page—Signs and symptoms of hypovolemia. Common nursing interventions.

Each word jumped at her like a familiar friend.

A flicker of hope bloomed in her chest.

She steadied her breathing, picked up her pen, and started writing. Slowly at first, then faster. Confidence poured back into her with every answer. Her earlier panic started to dissolve, replaced by quiet focus.

The room faded.

Time didn't matter anymore.

For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel like a failure.

She felt like a nurse in the making.

An hour later, when she submitted her paper and stepped outside, the sun was even hotter. Her shirt clung to her back. Her head ached. But a strange calm settled in her chest.

Kelsey joined her a few moments later.

"You okay?" she asked.

Amara nodded, a small smile forming. "It was... actually doable."

Kelsey grinned. "Same here. You made it, girl."

"Barely."

"But you did."

They stood there, side by side, as students flooded out behind them—some triumphant, some shaken. But Amara didn't care anymore about who looked at her funny, who judged her for being late, or who whispered behind her back.

Because she had faced the pressure—and for once, she hadn't cracked.

She had risen.